Chapter 17
Sage
The deposition was long and kind of terrible. And it got boring toward the end. I thought I answered all the questions well, but they were very picky and kept asking me to repeat stuff.
Marty Johnson was an awful guy. I didn’t know him but he came into the pub all the time before he got caught spiking drinks for people he wanted to take home and assault. He was loud and rude and yet very charismatic. He had a different date every time. Now I knew why.
When I sold drinks to him, I saw him standing at the bar after he’d paid, not really moving much.
It looked funny. That’s why I noticed him.
Then one night I saw him with a piece of thin, folded paper.
He held it over one drink and I saw powder falling out of the paper.
He mixed it in with his finger. I thought it was his own drink because, ew, why would he put his finger in a drink for his date?
I could look the other way if someone was doing recreational drugs.
Maybe drugs made Marty more confident so he could put on his bravado mask. That’s why I didn’t say anything.
I was distracted by work, too, slow to put two and two together until one night the cops came and interviewed every worker at the pub.
I told them what I saw and realized they were investigating Marty for rape.
Yikes. If I’d known, I would’ve said something sooner.
I might have confronted him, though I didn’t think of myself as confrontational.
Still, that was my job. People came here to be served.
If they were getting dicey drinks, I needed—wanted—to be honest about that.
When I finally got out of the office, I looked around for Preston but couldn’t find him anywhere. I was too shy to ask anyone. I went back to my car and drove back to campus.
At home, I texted Preston.
I’m home now. See you tonight! I’ll be there at six. Can’t wait to go out to dinner.
No response. I stared at the dots to the side of the open text window, waiting to see them move to show he was typing. Nothing. Then I checked the little message below my own text. It said: Read. That meant he’d seen it.
Why wasn’t he texting back? Maybe he was busy or driving. But even when driving, he had his phone set to voice on the dash computer. He could answer, dictate texts, etc.
Why wasn't he answering me?
I still had a couple of hours before I needed to be at his house.
I grabbed an apple for a snack and settled in to study a bit.
Most of my classes required a lot of reading.
It seemed like I was always reading reading reading.
When I wasn't reading, my homework consisted of writing reports.
I always tried to get everything done before seeing Daddy Preston.
But sometimes in the evenings I would sit on the floor by the couch and do my homework while Preston worked on his laptop.
We had become like a well-oiled machine together.
It was comforting to know that we were part of each other's routine. I'd never known anybody like him.
Tonight we had great plans, but I also had my own plan. Tonight was the night I was going to tell Daddy Preston once and for all, in my real big boy voice, that I loved him.
The time passed quickly. I grabbed my backpack and was about to leave when my phone chimed. I had a text from Daddy. Yes!
Something work related has come up and I have to cancel tonight. I’ll tell you more when we see each other another night. I’ll text when I’m free.
I backed up into my TV chair and sat staring at the words. They looked so formal. So impersonal. He didn’t call my baby like he usually did. The way I read the words made it seem like he was stressed. I decided I could be friendly and personal for us both right now.
Relax and do what you have to do, Daddy. I’ll see you another night. Soon, I hope!
I reread my words and liked them enough to hit send. I waited and waited, staring at my phone. Nothing. No reply. Daddy Preston never acted this way from the moment I met him. He was always friendly. Always making sure I was well taken care of, happy.
But now my feelings were hurt. He’d gone silent. I was sure it wasn’t on purpose, but what could be happening to make him not talk?
Now, I was worried.
I got up and threw my backpack on my bed. It was full of toys and clothes. I wouldn’t be using any of that tonight. Later, I made myself a quick, easy dinner. Two lovely, thick toasted cheese sandwiches.
I had finished most of my homework and turned on a movie. But I couldn’t concentrate. A persistent ache filled my chest. I needed Daddy.
My inner voice began to chastise me.
Don’t be so needy and greedy. Just because you’re a little doesn’t mean you’re the center of the universe. Daddies have needs, too. They have important things to do.
My inner voice was right. Plus, I had seen Daddy today. At his office. I didn’t know that was his office. He’d never told me the name of his firm. I only knew it was big and important and downtown.
I remembered every detail of our encounter. But now my memory came back filtered through a darker lens. Daddy Preston had been almost shocked to see me. No, he was shocked. Surprised at the very least. That shouldn’t have mattered. Why should he expect to see me there?
His body language was a little stiff. He didn’t come toward me or reach out at all. He’d told me early on in our relationship that he was out to his co-workers, so he wasn’t hiding in that regard.
I tried to remember more. What had I said?
Only that I was a witness. I guess that surprised him, too.
I’d never spoken of it to him because, quite frankly, the case had taken over a year to get this far.
I’d sort of forgotten it was a fairly big deal.
Maybe he was upset I hadn’t said anything to him, but I was told I couldn’t talk about the Bremerton/Johnson case by the prosecutor who was handling it.
Daddy should know that was standard procedure.
He couldn’t be mad at me. Not for that. Not for anything, really.
But his body language had been stiff, his eyes distant.
Something had happened between that moment and his late text.
I had to believe it wasn’t about me. But I couldn’t know for sure and it hurt. Badly. My chest ached.
In bed, I tossed and turned. If I did sleep, I’d wake constantly, my arms stretched out to touch Daddy. But he wasn’t there. I’d slept at his house so many nights I kept having to remind myself I was in my own bed, not his.
When morning came, I checked my phone. Nothing.
I went to class and couldn’t pay attention. Every five minutes, I looked at my phone just in case I had missed a text from him.
I had work at six and did my job on auto-pilot.
Mateo noticed and commented. “What’s up with you tonight? You’re not making eye contact with the customers. You’re barely speaking.”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
Mateo laughed. “Your boyfriend’s keeping you up late, eh?”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
I didn’t want to talk. Not to anyone. “Like I said, I’m just tired.”
I got back to my apartment at about 12:15 a.m. Even when I turned on all the lights, it seemed dark and shadowy. Not cozy or warm like when I was with Daddy and he made a fire in the fireplace.
Still not one peep from him. All day.
My body was heavy as I fell into bed. I slept, but it was strange sleep. Like my mind was sad. All the dreams I couldn’t remember when I woke left me with a lost feeling. They must’ve been sad, too. I was glad I didn’t remember them.
I went through the motions of student and work, but my mind was not present. Three days passed.
Why no texts? Daddy had not broken up with me. He’d said he would explain more when we saw each other again. But when would that be? Why wasn’t he telling me what was going on?
Then a horrible thought came over me like being doused in cold water.
Even though our relationship had been growing more wonderful every day, could Daddy Preston be having second thoughts?
And if he was, maybe he didn’t want to tell me.
Maybe he thought he was sparing my feelings by just ghosting me.
Was that it? Was Daddy ghosting me? Did he not really want to see me again?
I was alone in my apartment when that realization hit me. I fell on my bed and started to sob. Loud, ugly sobs.
My crying stopped only when I was too exhausted and dehydrated for tears or wails.
Stupidly, I checked my phone. As if I could will Daddy Preston to contact me. The blankness on the screen devastated me.
My inner voice piped in again.
You do realize you are allowed to text him.
I sat and thought about that. But would I be interfering? He said something had come up at work. He’d never said it had anything to do with me. Could it be so bad that he couldn’t even say hello to me in three days?
If it wasn’t personal, like a death in the family or something awful like that, then I wouldn’t be interfering if I texted him.
I thought about it long and hard. Finally, I typed.
Hi, Daddy. I miss you. Are you all right? I haven’t heard from you in way too long. I really do miss you. Lots and lots.
My words seemed a little cutesy, but that was me. He knew that. He expected it. I was being friendly but not pushy. The more I looked at my words, the more I decided they were appropriate.
I hit send. And waited.
And waited.